A woman sits on a bench on the solitary platform of Girinagar Railway Station.

She looks at her watch.

Then she looks towards the Railway Track.

She has a worried expression on her face.

The Station Master comes out of his office holding two flags, one green and one red.

He sees the woman and smiles at her.

The woman gets up from the bench and asks the station master, “Is the shuttle late?”

“Yes, the shuttle has been delayed. The express train is being stopped here. The shuttle has been detained at the outer signal and will arrive here after the express train goes away.”

“Oh, My God…!!!”

“What happened?” asks the station master.

“I don’t want to be late for the Republic Day function in our school.”

“What time is the function?”

“7:30. The normal school time.”

“Oh.”

“I hope I will reach in time,” the woman says anxiously.

“I don’t think so. Normally the shuttle leaves here at 6:25 and reaches the Junction at 7. It’s 35 minutes running time. Today the express is expected to arrive at 6:45 and will be detained here for at least 5 minutes. By the time the shuttle arrives and leaves it will easily be past 7. Even if it makes up time and reaches the junction by 7:30 you still have a 10 minute walk to school. I don’t think you’ll be able to make it on time.”

“Oh, My God. I will be in trouble if I am late for the Republic Day function. It will be so humiliating,” the woman says in an anxious voice with nervousness written all over her face.

“You’ve got a first class pass, haven’t you?” the station master asks.

“Yes,” the woman says.

“Then don’t worry. You can travel by the express in the air-conditioned coach. I will tell the TTE to permit you. The express will take less than 15 minutes to reach the junction and you will be there latest by 7:10 and you can easily reach your school well before 7:30.”

“Thank you so much.”

“What ‘Thank You’? You are like my daughter. This is the least I can do for you.”

“Why is the express stopping here?” the woman asks.

“The express train is being stopped here for Colonel Ashok,” the station master says.

Suddenly the telephone rings and the station master rushes inside his office.

“The express train is being stopped here for Colonel Ashok” – those words slice through the woman’s heart like a knife slices through butter.

“So Ashok is a Colonel now. A big shot. Big enough to get the express stopped for him at Girinagar where even the fast passenger does not halt,” the woman says to herself.

Then the woman is filled with hate and regret and she says to herself bitterly: “Had it not been for the scheming bitch Menaka who mesmerized Ashok with her enticing charms and stole him away from me, today I would been Mrs. Ashok – a Colonel’s Wife, a Memsahib.”

Suddenly, the shrill whistle of the diesel engine of the express train disturbs her train of thoughts and the express train arrives on the platform.

The air-conditioned coach stops right in front of her. In the door stands Menaka, Ashok’s wife.

Menaka sees the woman and smiles at her but the woman does not return the smile.

The woman turns her face away but looks at the door of the air-conditioned coach with the corner of her eyes trying to catch a glimpse of Ashok.

The big show-off that he is, she is sure Ashok will be in his resplendent uniform strutting like a peacock.

But there is no sign of Colonel Ashok.

Instead she sees a young officer in uniform getting down from the train with Menaka and the both of them start walking towards the end of the train.

“Come on, get in fast,” the station master motions her towards the door of the air-conditioned coach. He says something to the TTE and the TTE tells her to go inside and sit on Seat No. 30.

She sits on Seat No. 30.

A family – a man, a woman and a small boy sit on the seats around her.

There is a jerk, the tug of the engine, and the train starts moving and picks up speed.

The woman looks at her watch.

6:50.

She heaves a sigh of relief.

She will be well on time for the Republic Day function.

The TTE arrives to check her pass.

Curious, the woman asks the TTE: “Why did the train stop here?”

“To detach the refrigerated van at the end of the train,” the TTE says, “the van was carrying the body of an army officer who died in action and sacrificed his life for the nation. His widowed wife was sitting right here on Seat No. 30 – the same seat where you are now sitting.”

“His name was Colonel Ashok,” the man sitting in front says, “despite losing her husband the courageous lady was so poised and calm. It is because of the sacrifice of such brave people that we can celebrate Republic Day … ”

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer and blogger. Educated at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and an anthology of short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional and academic research papers in journals and edited in-house journals and magazines for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing and blogging. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

But then she gave me her vivacious smile, her eyes danced, and I knew who she was.

She had been one of my brightest students – but then that was quite some time ago.

“Of course I recognize you,” I said, “How can I ever forget one of my best students? But it was so unexpected that I was confused for a moment; and you’ve grown up so much, and I too am getting old, you know.”

“No, Sir, you still look handsome, and as young as ever. I’m sure all the girls still have a crush on you, like we did!” she said naughtily.

I almost blushed, so to change the subject, I asked her, “What you doing here at the airport?”

“I’m going to New York,” she said, “my flight is delayed so I am just killing time.”

“My flight to Singapore is delayed too,” I said.

“Singapore?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m going for a conference,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

For some moments no one spoke.

To break the silence, I said, “Let’s go to the coffee shop. We can sit and talk over there till our flights are announced.”

As we walked to the airport coffee shop, I thought of the girl walking beside me.

She had abruptly left our school three years ago, after completing her 9th Standard.

When we teachers expressed our surprise, the Principal of our school told us that her parents wanted to shift her to an elite boarding school, faraway in the hills.

We told the Principal that she was a brilliant scholar, one of our best students, who had the potential to top the 10th Board Exams, and she would surely bring laurels to our school by adorning the merit list. We also argued that, even from her point of view, it was not prudent to change her school and shift her just one year before the matriculation board examination.

The Principal told us that he had discussed all this with her parents, but they were adamant.

So, the bright young girl left our school and went away to the boarding school, and I did not see her, or hear of her, after that.

“Sir, do you know why I had to suddenly leave school?” she asked, as we sat down for coffee.

“No,” I said, “we were quite surprised.”

“My parents were getting divorced and they did not want me around, so they sent me away to the boarding school,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “that’s sad.”

“Yes,” she said, “it was really sad. I did not like it at all.”

Though I had met her parents once or twice perfunctorily at school functions, I did not know her parents that well. In fact, I did remember most of my students, but I hardly remembered their parents.

I sipped my coffee and did not say anything, waiting for her to speak.

“I just don’t know why they split,” she said, “we seemed to be such a happy family together.”

“They must have had their reasons,” I said.

“Well, I think I know at least one reason now,” she said.

I just looked at her, waiting for her to continue speaking.

“The moment the divorce was through, my dad got married to a woman half his age.”

“Half his age?” I asked, quite incredulous.

“Yes. The female was his student.”

“Student?”

“You know that my father is a Professor, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“She was doing her Ph. D. under him. The wily female snatched him away from us. And it was his fault too – a married man with a family getting involved with woman so much younger than him. It was terrible – a teacher and a student shamelessly getting married to each other. Just imagine how embarrassing it must have been for me and my mother.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to show empathy.

“And do you know what my mother does?”

“What?”

“Three months later, she too gets remarried to a jerk from her office,” she said, “I hate him – he’s such a crafty smooth-talking fake.”

She paused for a moment and said, “And can you imagine his audacity?”

“Audacity?”

“One day he politely told me that ‘they’ wanted more privacy so could I please go and stay with my own Dad for a while?”

“Don’t tell me…!”

“Yes. And you won’t believe this – my mother just kept quiet and said nothing.”

“So?”

“So I packed my bags and went over to my father’s place, but it was even worse over there.”

“Even worse?”

“Though she did not say so in so many words, my ‘step-mother’ made it quite clear that I was not very welcome – the vibes, you know those negative vibes – I could feel them every moment.”

“That’s sad.”

“So I spent the next two years of junior college, my 11th and 12th, shuttling between the two places like an unwanted badminton shuttle-cock,” she said, “then I made a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I told them I wanted to go abroad to America for my studies and wanted them to fund it,” she said.

She paused for a moment, had a sip of coffee, and then she said, “you know, all of them were so delighted to hear this. My Dad used his academic connections and went out of the way to get me admission to the best university, and everyone, my Mom, and even my so-called ‘step parents’, are all chipping in to finance my education abroad for as long as I want to study. They all are so happy to get me out of the way.”

“Oh, so that’s why you are going to the States?”

“Yes. I am running away. To a new life,” she said.

Suddenly, her flight was announced, and she got up to leave.

“Thanks for the coffee, Sir,” she said, “it was so nice meeting you.”

“I am sure we will meet again when you come back,” I said.

“I am not coming back, Sir. There is nothing left here for me to come back to. I am leaving behind the baggage of my past over here and I am moving on to begin a new life over there – and I am not going to look back,” she said.

About Vikram KarveA creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram Karve has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.comProfessional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karveVikram Karve Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarveVikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htmEmail: vikramkarve@sify.com

About Me

A creative person with a zest for
life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated
at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School
Pune, Vikram has published two books:COCKTAILa collection of fiction short stories about relationships
(2011) andAPPETITE FOR A STROLLa
book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel, writing short fiction and compiling his memoirs. An avid
blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative
non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, books, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories, self help and art of living essays in magazines and journals and published a number of professional research papers and reviews and edited in-house magazines and journals for many years, before the advent
of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to
creative writing and blogging. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse -
his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative
thoughts.